Saw This On A Tiktok Or Ig I Don't Remember But I Wanna Do It Price Version:

Bruce and Clark have a special rooftop, one that is high enough, with enough things to hide them from whatever can catch them, where they can pull the heroes personas off and just idly talk about anything.

The lights from the city reach them, but at the same time the moonlight gives them comfort. Their legs dangle from above, floor so far away, but both don't pay attention.

This rooftop was the one where they first met, where they had their first fight, where they first showed their identities, where clark met dick and all the rest of the birds, where clark told Bruce he got married to Lois, where Bruce said he was dating Selena, where clark said he had a son with Lois, where clark said he was divorced, where Bruce told clark about his encounter and assault with Talia, and then where Bruce showed Damian.

That rooftop held memories of every important matter in their life, that rooftop witness a dictionary of emotions expressed by the both of them, that rooftop their sanctuary.

Today was no different. Cowl off, persona off, feet dangling, postures relaxed and faces happy. Clark was telling an anecdote from work and Bruce was laughing that laugh that was deep and genuine, that clark had the privilege to hear.

Clark was looking at Bruce laughing and speaking, his eyes soft and a turn up of lips always present. They were best friends, close partners and a constant presence in each other's lives. The first person to always enter his mind was Bruce. He hadn't realize how Bruce dictated his life without even trying, Clark was always thinking about Bruce and what Bruce thought.

Clark never realized that what he felt for Bruce was more than just a friendship. But now, looking at the fair skin illuminated by the city lights and perfected by the moonlight, eyes wrinkled from laughing and pale blues gazing on his own, Clark felt something explode inside himself, something that was stuck but finally made itself known.

Oh. I love this man.

Bruce had his head turn towards clark, about to ask what's wrong because of the stretched silence from clark, but he didn't get to say anything because clark leaned in with a fleeting confidence and kissed Bruce.

It was frightening, it was amazing. It was scary, it was wonderful. It was the end of the world, it was everything he asked for.

And when Bruce kissed back, oh, Clark wanted to float so bad and just let the wind take him because it was just like a dream.

It started off as soft, little nips here and there, their lips moving in a sync that rivaled their battle forms. They kept their hands to themselves, just focusing on kissing and savoring each other. Bruce pushed back, deepening the kiss and clark let him, willingly opening his lips to feel Bruce's tongue exploring and tasting, playing with Clark's tongue.

It felt like hours when they pulled back. Bruce was catching his breath because he was only human, and clark was catching his for a whole different reason. Both looked at each other, confirming and smashing any remaining doubts they might have left, before they both smiled and chuckled at whatever.

"Do you want to go back to the manor?"

Clark giggled "if Alfred allows me to."

"It's worth the try."

(I was inspired by this umikochannart on twitter and Instagram!! Plz check her out she has amazing artstyle and amazing superbat fanart!!!)

Gaz who gets caught in a building during it falling on an operation.

Ghost who pushes him to the ground sheltering gaz's whole body with his huge frame.

Gaz who comes too with a bleeding unconscious Ghost on-top of him, and has to struggle to carry him to the safe house.

Ghost who allows Gaz to take the mask off to treat his wounds.

Gaz who realises just how pretty Ghost is, and is trying not to flush pink while stitching him up.

Ghost who falls asleep on Gaz feeling comfortable enough to do so.

Gaz who absently braids his lieutenants hair.

The rough idea of something I'm writing.

every time gaz is replaced with konig in fics, not only does an angel lose its wings but I also projectile vomit everywhere.

Superbat cuddles!!! (Idk how to draw backgrounds )

I love the headcanon that Kyle has a good sense of style in every way possible. Talking about good fashion style, good taste in decoration, and good overall.

I imagine that when it's time to go to the club, soap goes to Kyle to ask for an outfit bc he knows Kyle has the most stylish clothes and is actually good at styling.

What's ghost like when he's had a few too many?

Anon this ask came at a great time. I was writing a very tipsy Ghost snippet and i decided to flesh it out a bit more and finish it up to answer here. Bit long so there's more under the cut but here's what I came up with:

The pub was dimly lit, warm, and humming with soft chatter. Outside, rain pattered against the windows, a steady rhythm that only added to the cozy atmosphere. The 141 had commandeered a snug corner, a mismatched set of chairs pulled around a sturdy wooden table. They were celebrating—a successful mission wrapped up and a few extra days of leave in the States, a rare moment to relax as a team.

Price nursed a whisky, leaning back in his chair, his hat resting on the table beside him. Soap and Gaz were deep in a debate about some football match, their voices animated, hands gesturing wildly. Ghost sat on the bench seat, mask firmly in place, sipping cautiously from a pint of lager.

Price knew better than to let Ghost’s quiet exterior fool anyone. Despite his size and the fearsome reputation that preceded him, Ghost was a complete lightweight when it came to drinking. It was something Price had discovered by accident years ago, a rare night off where Ghost had indulged a little too much. Since then, Price had made it his unofficial responsibility to keep an eye on him during team outings.

Tonight, though, Ghost seemed unusually relaxed. He’d already had three pints, which Price knew was about his limit, but when Soap shoved another drink his way, Ghost didn’t refuse. Price’s brow furrowed, but he let it slide. One night of letting loose wouldn’t hurt.

As the hours ticked by, Ghost’s behaviour started to shift. It began subtly enough. He leaned closer to the table, resting his forearms on it and nodding along to Soap’s increasingly ridiculous stories. Then came the touches. Ghost rested his hand briefly on Gaz’s shoulder as he laughed at one of his jokes, his grip lingering just a second too long. Gaz froze, then shot Soap a look of sheer bewilderment.

When Soap said something particularly absurd, Ghost reached out and pinched his cheek with a low chuckle. “You’re an idiot, Johnny,” he said, his voice lighter than usual. Soap’s eyes widened in mock horror, though the grin he wore betrayed his amusement.

“Fuckin' hell, LT. You’re touchy tonight,” Soap teased, leaning slightly closer as if testing his boundaries. Ghost didn’t push him away. Instead, he gave Soap a lazy shove that barely moved him.

“Don’t get used to it,” Ghost muttered, though there was no heat behind the words.

Gaz, emboldened by Soap’s success, nudged Ghost with his elbow. “Didn’t know you were such a cuddler, sir.”

Ghost turned to him, and for a moment, Gaz thought he’d crossed a line. But then Ghost slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a side hug. “Don’t push your luck, Kyle,” he said, but the softness in his tone, and the use of his name, made Gaz grin.

Price, watching all this from his seat, felt a surge of amusement and something warmer. It wasn’t often Ghost let his guard down, and it wasn’t lost on him how much trust it took to do so, even after all these years.

By the time Ghost finished his fourth pint, he had switched seats with Gaz as the sergeants' debate continued, wanting no part in it. He was leaning heavily against Price’s side. His mask had come off somewhere in the haze of laughter and drink, revealing a face that was relaxed and uncharacteristically open.

“You alright there, Simon?” Price asked, his voice low and warm.

Ghost hummed in response, nuzzling slightly into Price’s neck. “You’re comfortable,” he mumbled, his words slurred but content.

Soap’s jaw dropped. “Did he just…?”

Gaz looked equally shocked but also thoroughly delighted. “I’m seeing it, but I still don’t believe it.”

“He’s had a few too many,” Price defended, though there was no mistaking the fondness in his tone. He shifted slightly to support Ghost’s weight, one arm coming around to rest at his waist. Ghost nestled closer, his breathing slowing as sleep crept in.

“You’ve got to admit,” Soap said, grinning, “it’s nice to see him like this. Kind of adorable, actually.”

Price rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. As Ghost’s head dipped against his shoulder, Price ran a hand gently through his hair, an instinctive gesture meant to soothe. Ghost let out a soft sigh, his body going completely limp as he fell asleep.

“Alright, boys,” Price said quietly. “Help me get him back to the house.”

“You’re not moving him,” Soap pointed out, gesturing to the way Ghost clung to Price like a barnacle. “He’s not letting go and he needs the sleep.”

Gaz leaned forward, grinning. “Come on, Cap, let him rest a bit longer. He looks… happy, you know? When do you ever see that?”

Soap nodded enthusiastically. “Aye, he’ll be dead embarrassed in the morning, but right now? Let ‘im have it.”

Price considered it for a moment, then sighed. “Fine. Few more minutes. But you two are carrying his kit back.”

As the conversation continued around him, Ghost stirred slightly, his brow furrowing as he shifted closer into Price’s warmth. His eyes blinked open briefly, and a flash of awareness crossed his face as he realised he was maskless and nestled against his captain.

He stiffened for a heartbeat, but then Price’s hand slid gently through his hair again, the soothing motion grounding him. “It’s alright, Simon,” Price murmured, voice low enough that only Ghost could hear.

The tension melted away. Ghost let out a soft sigh, his eyes fluttering closed as he settled back against Price’s shoulder. For a man who never let his guard down, he looked completely at ease.

Price gave it another few minutes before deciding it was time to move. “Right,” he said softly, shifting Ghost just enough to get them both to stand. Ghost murmured something incoherent but didn’t protest as Price kept an arm securely around his waist, guiding him towards the door.

As they gathered their things and prepared to leave, Soap and Gaz exchanged grins. They’d be teasing Ghost mercilessly about this come morning, but for now, they let the moment settle. Their lieutenant, who seemed carved from stone most days, had a softer side. And seeing it, even briefly, made the bond they shared as a team feel unbreakable.

Price, Ghost still nestled against him, led the way into the foggy night, a satisfied smile on his lips. For all the chaos they faced, moments like this made it all worthwhile.

(Sorry to those that follow for my shit)

With CABNW and TB* movies coming out and seeing people's comments and shit it just solidifies one thing that I have always realized since I have joined fandoms:

The racism is soooo fucking obvious omg.

Like I have noticed with so many characters, but the way people are villainizing Sam???? Wtf is wrong with yall???? Like how can you be this openly agaisnt him and not hide a bit the racism??? At least try to pretend no???

And can we stop babying bucky?? Bros is not a child and not a baby, it just paints a bad picture abt people who have deep trauma and ptsd - no they aren't babies, they just need an extra help navigating the world, the normal u treat them the better they feel, plz just stop babying bucky cmon.

Also one thing people are forgetting is that Anthony helped bring out the Sebastian yall love today. Ya know that right?? Yall do know that they paired them up to help Seb come out of his shell??? And yall are now preferring Wyatt?? AGAIN HIDE THE RACISM A BIT MORE BABES.

Anyways Sambuck the best relationship, Sam DESERVES to be Captain America, and Seb and Anthony are the best besties.

Johnny's knee hurts. Price helps him feel better.

cw: messy blowjob. For the @continentcakeshop, who love Johnny.

Johnny shifted his foot for the third time in ten minutes and felt the now familiar twinge through his knee. He couldn't decide what was worse; the constant dull ache of keeping it stationary, like it needed to click, which was driving him batshit insane, or the sharp burn of a quick stretch that made his entire body jolt, knocking the table he was sharing with the boss man himself.

“You broken?” Price asked, tapping the blunt nib of his biro against the manilla folder by his form.

“Naw, sir. Jus’ me bum knee. S’givin’ me grief cause it's cald outside.”

“You been t’ the physio?”

“Not fer a few weeks. No time, ye know…” Johnny gestured aimlessly at the paperwork in front of him. When he'd signed up at fifteen and nine months, he hadn't expected to spend so long with a damn pen in his hand instead of a firearm.

Price hummed and Johnny watched his whiskers twitch as they tended to do when he was mulling something over. Then came the full face grimace as he considered his options. The biro clattered to the table moments later, the chair legs scraping against the concrete floor. “Olrigh’, can't ‘ave ya fallin’ behind. Keks down, leg up ‘ere.”

Johnny blinked owlishly, first at Price's hands as they patted his lap and then at the intense blue eyes watching him from beneath thick eyebrows. “Come again.”

“C’mon, MacTavish. Don't ‘ave all day. Boot off, drop ‘em. Quick rub down will make it feel better.”

Oh, he wasn't taking the piss. Well, shit. Johnny glanced at Price's hands again, big, weathered, with long clever fingers and a scar across the knuckles from where Price had skinned them open on the steel-plated jaw of a Kortac operator. The thought of having them on his body in any capacity made a sudden surge of heat fill his belly.

His knee gave another unrepentant throb and he stood awkwardly to undo his belt, jamming the heel of his boot against the toe of the other to kick it off before loosening the laces. He managed to slide his leg out, the knee support catching on his waistband, before slumping back into the chair. His foot hovered off the floor, suddenly conscious of how fuckin’ filthy his sock was. And how tight his boxers were.

“Ain't got all night,” Price said. “Stop bein’ a pansy. Ain't gonna ‘urt ya.”

Johnny scowled and extended his leg, setting it gingerly across Price's lap while his hands cupped over his crotch. “Naw one says pansy any more, old man.”

Price raised an eyebrow as he hooked Johnny's knee support and coaxed it down his calf muscle, bunching it at his ankle as he wrinkled his nose. “This sock ever seen a washin’ machine?”

“Oh feck, now ye really sound like me pa.”

“I was eleven years old when you were born, I ain't yer dad, MacTavish.” Price chucked the support and the filthy sock onto the floor and ran his thumbs up the sides of Johnny’s leg, pressing into the swollen ligaments and tendons either side of his patella. The sensation sat keenly on the threshold of pain and pleasure; Price couldn't press too hard without oil, but his pressure was damn perfect.

“Oh, fuck… mmm, aye, but I c’n still call ye dad–”

“If ya finish that sentence, ‘m gonna dislocate yer knee cap.”

“Aye, sir."

Johnny tried to stay quiet. He yapped when he was nervous and Jesus wept he was nervous now. Not because it hurt - god, fuck, Price’s hands were a damn dream - but because the heat in his belly was spreading out through the rest of him; a warm, fuzziness humming just below his skin. As the dull ache ebbed into a low throb, Johnny’s chin tilted down and his eyes lidded. He watched those strong hands work, manipulating his muscles and tendons like putty, pressing to and fro in easy glides that left Johnny lightheaded.

Johnny bit back a moan. Price was good. He knew what he was doing. Didn't stay only around the knee, but rubbed behind it and slightly down the calf to ease the resulting tension from where the rest of his leg was overcompensating. That was all fine… it was when those thumbs went up his thigh, one on the hairy outside, the other up the milky soft skin of the inner, that the whole arrangement got a bit spicy.

Johnny was getting hard. Proper hard, not just a cheeky little chubby. He could feel the wet patch in the cotton where his leaking tip was pushing up against his palm. Fuck, fuck. His eyes squeezed shut, and he tried to distract himself. Mentally listing off the steps for stripping a gun, the ingredients for a pipe bomb, the starting fifteen for Man City–

“Ev’ryfin olrigh’, Soap?”

Johnny’s eyes blinked open and he realised he'd been damn panting. Price hadn't stopped though. One hand had wandered a little higher, massaging his thigh muscle while the other cupped beneath his calf. Just a little higher and he could slide his cock into his captain's palm. Those callouses would feel unreal against the silky skin of his shaft… no, no, normal thoughts. Normal.

“Aye, sir. Sorry. Jus’... Uh…”

“Feels good,” Price finished for him. “Been a while for more ‘an jus’ physio then.” There was a wry amusement to his tone and Johnny’s lower lip pushed up in a pout, his face flushing red.

“S’not what it looks like.”

“Looks like yer hard from a little tenderness, sergeant.”

“Fuck, don't tell anyone, ah’ll do dogsbody in officer’s mess fer a whole month.”

“Oof, humiliatin’.”

“Not as humiliatin’ as Garrick takin’ the pish cause ah got a stonner for me captain,” Johnny blurted out, making it infinitely worse. “Fuck.”

Price snorted a laugh and Johnny’s eyes blew owlishly wide again. Those big hands were still working; any pain had faded, and only a warm pleasure remained, pressure coiling in his groin. Price hummed. “Maybe I can help ya with that too. If yer up for it.”

“What?” Johnny squeaked. Price was a gay man. That was no secret. He was one of the few gay men in the service that Johnny had ever encountered that endured precisely fuck all abuse about it. No cunt was daft enough to even try. Johnny had been too feart to own his sexuality, but Price had probably heard Grindr ping one too many times to be left under any illusion that Johnny was straight.

“Yer not the only one goin’ through a bit of a dry spell. Offer’s there.”

Johnny swallowed thickly. He couldn't lift his eyes from Price's hands, watching those strong thumbs circle either side of his knee again, prick throbbing in the confines of his boxers. Of all the days to wear his snug Calvin Kleins that left nothing to the imagination. The bulge had filled his palms now. He could pull away, put a stop to it, but he didn't want to. He wanted Price’s hand wrapped around his prick. “Aye.”

“Whot?”

“Aye, sir… ah’d like some… help,” Johnny finished lamely, his fingers tightening over his cock as he shifted his arse in the chair.

Price blinked at him slowly, leaning back in his chair. Johnny’s leg shifted a little, foot tilting out, and he saw it for the first time. A huge fuck off bulge in the front of Price's Carhartts. “Oh-ho, fuck me, look at the size of it,” Johnny wheezed, and then clicked his mouth shut, lips sucked in so he could chew on them before murmuring, “Respectfully… sir.”

Price chuckled, rubbing a hand over his face, nails raking down through his beard around the edges of his grin. “‘m gonna be glad ev’ryone's on leave, un’ I?”

Johnny flushed to the tips of his ears. “Ah can be wheesht.”

“Nah, don't be.” Price took Johnny's ankles and lowered his leg slowly to the floor. Johnny licked his lips as anticipation bubbled in his chest, hands still clasped over his crotch despite the futility of trying to hide his erection. His eyes somehow widening further as Price slipped from his seat and onto his knees between Johnny’s feet.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” Johnny breathed, hands shaking as Price took them and guided them away from where they still cupped protectively over his cock. He felt the warm puff of Price's breath over the hair on his belly and the damp spot on his boxers, and his toes curled against the floor. Those weathered fingers stroked up his thighs, over soft cotton to the elastic of his waistband. Johnny’s cock flicked gratefully free, ruddy and dark compared to the rest of him, and he sucked in a sharp hiss through his teeth as cool air found his wet slit.

“Well, pretty all over, ain’tcha, sergeant?”

Johnny knew he had a nice dick, good girth, nice upward curve to hit all the right spots and a respectable length. He'd taken enough selfies with it and then had his phone blow up to know, but to hear Price say it in that silky rumble made him go weak. His hips squirmed, and he bit his lower lip as Price's beard rubbed on his inner thigh, followed by the softness of his lips as he kissed a trail up. Johnny fingers bit into the outside of his legs as they pushed out, urging Price to get to his destination. “Please, sir…”

“Relax, soldier. I gotcha.”

Finally, Price grasped Johnny’s cock, fingers pushing through the coarse thatch of hair at the base. Johnny let out a soft whine, shaft flicking in Price’s grip as a thick pearl of precum welled from his slit. It was sweet, sweet torture. A mixture of relief and yearning that made his entire body light up. Price’s thumb swept below his waistband, brushing the swell of his sac, before he stroked up, fingers brushing over the flare of Johnny’s crown.

Johnny groaned, head flopping back because he needed to briefly thank fucking God for blessing his dick and promise to visit confession at some point in the next decade to repent for lusting after his captain's hands and mouth. He couldn't take his fucking eyes off Price for long, and he looked back in time to watch Pricd ease his his foreskin back, the wicked tip of his tongue pushing though Johnny’s slit to lap it clean of pre. “Fuck, fuck, fuck… god, shite, ahh, sir, mmm.”

The lines around Price's eyes deepened in amusement, and then his eyes slid closed in what Johnny could only describe as bliss as he kissed the thick vein down Johnny's length, brushing the tip of his nose across silky skin until it buried against Johnny's groin with a soft groan. “Mm, fuck, ya smell good.”

Johnny spread his legs a little further, lifting his arse when Price tugged his boxers to bring them further down his thighs. The heat of his mouth enveloped Johnny’s balls, his tongue pressing down the seam, Johnny's cock resting against his cheek as he tasted his full. Johnny panted through parted lips, one hand finally leaving his leg to slide around the back of his captain's head to pull his face closer. “Aye… sir, fuck… ahh.”

The moan that rumbled from Price’s chest rolled up Johnny’s body like an earthquake, and he heard the clatter of a buckle as Price fumbled with his belt to free his cock. Jacking himself off to the taste of Johnny’s sac in his mouth. When he finally drew away, he left Johnny's dark curls wet with spit, his blue eyes lidded, drunk on Johnny's musk and the pleasure of his hand pumping slowly up and down his own cock.

“God, yer a fuckin’ bonny picture, sir. Love tae suck cock, eh? Fuck.”

Price didn't say anything, just licked back up the underside of Johnny’s prick to draw the tip into his mouth. The wet glide of Price's tongue around his glans made Johnny groan, and he lifted his hips, pressing his tip over the ridges at the top of Price's mouth, fingers tightening at the back of his head. Price didn't need much encouragement to sink down, but he did so at his own pace, slowly, torturously, sucking Johnny deeper into the glorious wet heat of his mouth until Johnny’s head hit the back of his throat.

Johnny held him there for moment, admiring the stretch of his lips around the heft of his shaft, the lidded, fucked out enjoyment in his eyes, the way his broad shoulders were completely relaxed as he palmed himself lazily. Bonny was right. Johnny wondered what he'd be like on his back with his hands pinned above his head, what his moans might sound like when they weren't muffled by cock…

Price drew off, sucking greedily until he reached the tip, before lowering again in a steady glide, fucking his own mouth on Johnny's prick. Johnny moaned loudly with each dip of Price’s head, his thighs shaking as warm, irresistible pleasure curled in his hips, through his belly, his balls firming up beneath Price's chin. “Ah, ah, sir, fu-mm, fuck, yer mouth… is… ahh.”

And then Price swallowed him down proper. Johnny felt the pop as his head pushed into Price's throat, the clenching tightness made him choke out a low, trembling moan, Price’s nose buried against his groin. The sound of Price’s pumping hand, the wet slap of skin, grew more urgent and the thought that Price was even more turned on by having Johnny in his throat was dizzying. When he began to bob his head again, half choking on Johnny’s cock, Johnny knew he wasn't going to last much longer.

He didn't know where to put his hands, bunching Price's hair between his fingers, scrubbing them over his beard just feels the bristles against his fingertips, sliding them down his throat to feel his Adam's apple bob and strain around his cock.

His heels lifted from the floor, toes pushing into the cold concrete, a sharp contrast to the blistering, pulsing heat of his captain's mouth as it milked him. He babbled incoherently, half Scots, half unintelligible English slurred out like a drunk at last orders, delirious with pleasure as saliva and precum pooled around his groin. His thumb stroked over Price's cheeks, pressing to feel the glide of his shaft through them and trace the damp of the tears that tracked from hazy blue eyes.

“Sir, ah’m, sir…” Johnny tried to tug him off because a gentleman didn't cum down a fella’s throat without asking, but Price fucking growled like a wolf having its meal stolen and that was enough to punch Johnny over into a heady climax. “Sir, fuck!” His stomach clenched, toes pushing against the floor as his hips lifted from the chair. Price kept sucking, drinking every drop offered by Johnny’s twitching prick. It coaxed him higher until he was whimpering in fucked out bliss, his fingers shaking in his captain's hair. Just as he was tipping over into oversensitivity, Price pulled off and pressed his face into the sweaty crease of Johnny's thigh, arm moving furiously, hips humping as he fucked his own grip.

“Yeah, g’won, sir, gonna come for me, liked havin’ my prick down ye throat, belly full of my cum.” Johnny stroked Price’s hair and watched his eyes roll back, his shoulders seizing, as he came hard into his fist. He panted between Johnny's legs, catching his breath for a moment, before he slumped back into his heels. Johnny took the opportunity to look down at his prick, still semi-hard, and he sucked in a breath. “Fuck, look at tha’ beast… ye top with tha’ weapon?”

“Only if you ya’sk nicely,” Price rasped. The sound of his throat, fucked raw, made Johnny's soft prick twitch against his thigh.

“How nicely?”

“State secret. S’classified.”

“I’ll steal L.T.’s clearance,” Johnny replied testily, and his hunch was rewarded with a quirk of the eyebrows. “Knew it.”

Price chuckled hoarsely. “Clean up. Got work t’ finish.” He rolled to his feet and for a beautiful moment his cock bobbed close to Johnny’s face. Be seein’ ye soon, sweet thing.

“Can't, ye jus’ sucked me brain out me prick.”

“Now, MacTavish.”

Johnny's mouth clicked shut, and then he mumbled a “yessir” as he pulled his boxers and jeans back on. He'd be lying if he said it was somewhat difficult to focus on the reports for the rest of the evening, especially when he lifted a foot to tease Price's crotch and the bastard spread his legs to give access. Didn't even flinch though. Wily git.

Johnny saw a tiktok of a cow costume that was basically a thong and a tiny bra. Send it to Kyle just for the funsies, but the other sergeant just answers

"I like that actually, would wear it"

And so Johnny, first and foremost, spirals and jerk off to the though of Kyle's dark skin in a tiny cow costume with his ass in a thong, talking how Johnny would eat that chocolate cake-

Secondly, he created a plan.

He went into one of those weird websites that have weird fetish costumes, and order three cow costumes that were rhe exactly replica of the one he saw on tiktok.

Then he shared his plan with Kyle, who agreed and was on board with it. Kyle was essential for this plan because he was Johnny's secret weapon.

Then he went looking for Simon, the hardest piece to achieve. He showed the Liutenant the plan and tried his best to convince him to join him. That one took a while, while meant two weeks of begging and one week of rookie babysitting instead of Simon, and the blond was on board.

The plan was:

1. Aquire the cow costume for three people. Check

2. Convince his other two boyfriends to wear those costumes. Check

3. Share the mastermind plan. Check

4. Choose a good day where Price would be spending his day out. Check (altho that one was hard)

5. Convince price that give them the key to his office (Kyle did that one). Check

6. Infiltrate price office and wear the costumes. Check (Simon kept grumbling and refused to take off the mask until Kyle made him puppy eyes)

7. Call price to his office. Check

8. It's showtime!(Johnny stop that!)

Price when he saw them all standing there wearing the costumes was...not what Johnny expected. What the scott though was that price would either yell at them, laugh at them or sigh and leave them behind.

He did not expect the man to close the door, lock it, all while using one hand to unbuckle his belt with a face that prosimed one week of barely able being sat.

"Simon, kneel." The reaction was instant, the blond kneeled with his head down. "Kyle, kneel." Same with him too. The only one standing was Johnny, who gulped as Price approached him with a dark look. "I reckon it was your idea, Johnny."

"Y-yes, s-sir."

Price hummed, eyes racking over the scott "I'm trying to figure out if I should use you first or leave you for last" price hand laid on Johnny peck and squeezed, pulling a whimper from the younger "Depends on how pretty you beg."

Johnny dropped down to his knees, eyes already watered, lips in a pout and face close to the others crotch, looking up with his most pitful face "p-please, d-daddy."

"Good boy."

Ghost started to noticed the new choice of Soap underwear, that being tongs and panties. Not that he's complaining, he's actually very grateful for whoever influenced his scott. The boxers were great but having full access with no barriers is even better.

But Ghost was curious, who gave soap the idea? It was going to be difficult to find because soap was a social butterfly and made friends with anyone.

"Soap has been wearing a different kind of underwear." Ghost commented with Price one afternoon in the captains office.

"Hmm I have noticed."

"Aren't you surprised?"

Price shook his head, not looking up from his reports "Kyle as been wearing since he was young, says they comfy and cute at the same time."

Why didn't he think of Kyle? Soap and Gaz were attached to the hip, best friends and probably more from the way Soap talks about the brit (not that Ghost mind, he actually likes hearing about gaz) of course the biggest source of influence would be Kyle.

Ghost waited until he knew that Kyle and Johnny were in the Scott's room to pay a visit. It was one of their "bestie nights" so Ghost knew they would be together at this hour. He knocked once, a distinctive knock that warned Soap that it was Ghost. He heard the accented "come in" and entered the room.

And yes his hunch was right. There stood Soap in front of the mirror wearing some black tong that left absolutely nothing covered and Kyle was by his side with a tong too, but his was bright res contrasting with his black skin, looking pensive at Soap.

"Maybe black is too much?"

"Hmm, Ah like it."

Kyle turned towards Ghost "what do you think?"

"Yeah, wanna stay and help us out?"

And well, Ghost is only a man.